


The Persistence of Necessity

by Scriptor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor/pseuds/Scriptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is the one thing Batman would never do? Give in to his most hidden desires. Batman doesn't make mistakes but is this a mistake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way We Were

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving old Batman fic over from Fanfiction.net. THIS WAS WRITTEN IN 2010!
> 
> As canon as I could possibly get it, given the circumstances. I mean, there are some seriously slashy moments in TDK and in certain comics so you know, even though it makes sense, not everyone agrees.
> 
> Keep flames to yourself, please but also feel free to R&R
> 
> All chars belong to DC. Sadly, I don't own Joker.
> 
> I like to imagine my Batman from the DC All-Starsverse, but you can conjure up whichever you want. Same for Joker. Everyone loves Nolanverse but Allstar's tattooed Joker works too. (I suppose it makes a dif. for the more intimate scenes and scars/paint vs. bleached/lipstick or hell, you could even go so far as Batman Confidential Joker who has both bleached skin AND scars, because you see, Batman got him with a Batarang and… OMG, stop me now.)
> 
> I also looked to ThunderTori's Deviantart work as my inspiration. I hope she doesn't mind.
> 
> This is done pre-RIP because post, Joker knows Batman's identity, though he apparently does not care. Timing is everything, I suppose.
> 
> I'm probably justifying too much but I really don't think Batman's actions are all that OOC.  
> ******************************

The chase ensues; Batman's boots slosh in a standing puddle near a dumpster as he pursues the Joker down a narrow alleyway between apartment buildings. The dance they do, time and time again, relived night after night in the streets of Gotham. Sometimes he wondered if it would ever end – if he had the wherewithal to finally put an end to it: kill him. Though it is against his principles. Wouldn't there just be someone else to follow, to chase, to destroy? No, this one was different all right. Gave him meaning, a purpose. He knew it, didn't want to ever admit it. But somewhere in the deep recesses, he knew that it was all very true.

With a rustling of fabric, he landed on the roof behind Gordon, seeing the man flinch at the movement. An admission:

"Not tonight."

"I don't know how he keeps evading us." Gordon said through clenched teeth.

"Me. Evading me."

"What do you mean?"

"This time it was my fault. I… I got held up; I saw someone being accosted in the alley and I stopped."

Gordon's face showed obvious disappointment.

"Next time." Batman vowed. And into the night he disappeared.

"Long night, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, setting down a platter of food on the bedside table. Bruce was icing his neck in bed, perusing the police blotter on his laptop.

"Same ol', same ol'… Joker kills someone arbitrarily, I get the call, I give chase. I try to multitask and lose sight of my man, I mean, mission. Either way…"

"Don't give up hope, sir. You've done a lot of good in Gotham; this is just another kink in the chain, that's all."

"I wish it were that simple."

Unlike each night for the past two years, the Bat signal was not present in the dark sky. Bruce sat atop the fire escape of the Heights apartments, 38th and Grant. From here, he could see the exact place where he was slowed and where the Joker slipped into a doorway to a warehouse. Batman contemplated what he could possibly be doing there, what tricks he was pulling from his sleeves this time. Midnight came, the Gotham tower struck the hour in succession, echoing out amongst the streets, to the quiet homes and to the ears of all still hanging about, causing trouble, making his job all that it was, and is.

Hours passed and at 3 AM, he decided to go to Gordon anyway, check to make sure that there was a reason for the lack of call. Was it really possible that no one in Gotham needed him this night? He tried not to sneak up on the man but it was his way. Immediately, Batman saw the problem: the Bat Signal was… missing.

"They either dismantled it and rappelled down the side of the building or airlifted it – our men are working on the issue but I have no earthly idea."

"Do we know – " Batman was interrupted by Gordon's hand showing him the important evidence: a small playing card, silhouetted jester. In the relatively silent night air, Gordon could hear Bruce's teeth grinding as he calculated his plan. The things the Joker did just fired him up. He knew that it was all part of the plan to bait him, to goad him into his multitude of snares so that Bruce would fall to the man's evil whims. It's what he got off on, what he needed to thrive as a Gotham villain, the rogue that he is.

With a rush of air, Batman leapt from the rooftop and landed on a lower roof, running and jumping between buildings, towards 38th and Grant. For a long time he skulked in the shadows of night, waiting for anything that may give clues. Killing innocents was one thing but stealing the Bat signal was a person affront. Also, he wondered, how come Joker hasn't thought of it before? That's a good one…

A large metal door swung open and a rag-tag group of lackeys exited, some nondescript bags in their hands. He knew these were Joker's hires – they were boisterous, idiotic in their banter. Just the kind of dopes Joker would use. The thugs made their way out to the street and towards what was anybody's guess. With the Joker, he never knew.

He crept along behind them, standing in door frames if one looked over his shoulder. He trailed them all the way to yet another warehouse, this one near the Gotham docks and a whole lot dirtier and rundown. The thugs went inside and slammed the door shut. Meanwhile, Batman scrambled up a light post to peer into a dirt caked window some twenty feet up. Inside, the henchmen gathered around a sloppy pile of money nearly seven feet high and out from behind it sauntered the Joker, assault rifle in hand, a huge grin plastered upon his face.

"Gentlemen, you did not fail me and for this you shall be rewarded. Eternally, of course."

"I thought we got ten percent – each!" one of his men piped up.

"Yes well…" Joker held the gun at shoulder height and casually loaded a new magazine. The men looked nervous, shuffling from one foot to the other and backing away, slowly, towards the green metal doors behind them.

"…you thought wrong." And with that, he quickly and efficiently eliminated them. It happened so fast that Batman couldn't get down there. Even for some lowlifes, he thought that was his duty nevertheless. He scrambled to silently find an opening to that window but when he could not, he hopped down and tried the door, another side door, and one more window, to no avail. However, at the last window, he spotted something, something that glinted silvery off the dim lights in the warehouse. In a corner, behind a blockade of sandbags, he could swear he saw the Bat Signal.

Immediately, he was angry beyond reason, seething. But this was how the Joker wanted him to feel. Calming down and formulating a plan of action, around to the front of the building he ran, thinking he could just possibly burst in and take the Joker by force. No no, that would never do – he had bullets and though the Batsuit's Kevlar can take a few, the M4 Carbine Joker was packing would slow him down too much. With that thought, Batman made the quick decision to give it another night and plot a course. He knew now where the Bat signal was being stashed and so long as Joker didn't change the loc, there was time to make a better go of this, perhaps without taking some bullets.


	2. The Web We Weave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker ups the ante

There was a benefit at Gotham's Modern Art Museum the following afternoon and it was expected that Bruce Wayne would attend, seeing as how he had bestowed upon them a large sum of money, an amount that made it possible to acquire a Duchamp and two Kandinskys. As usual, the curators were forever indebted to his generous gift but by now it was old hat for Bruce. In the beginning, he liked the feeling of giving back to Gotham what they gave to his family. The Wayne family fortune grew in heft based solely on the prosperity of the city itself; returning the favor was what got him through the days. And of course by night, it was something else.

Bruce milled about the crowd of fancily dressed upper-class socialites, eavesdropping on conversations. Melinda Mayberry tapped him on the shoulder just as Bruce was reaching for another glass of wine from the maitre de's tray.

"Mr. Wayne! We want to thank you – all of us at the museum – for your kind and generous …" she paused as she too saw the item that Bruce was bewildered by: a very small playing card on the bottom of his glass. He quickly slipped it into his pocket and covered, "Well, it was really no problem. I love this museum and want to see it stick around. For my children, some day." Bruce gave her his best millionaire's smile, somehow indicating she should forget about what she just witnessed and move along.

Surveying the room for potential hangers-on, Bruce slipped out a stairwell door and made a run for the car. The small detail that Ms. Mayberry failed to see was that the little card bore a message. He ran it through his brain with each downward step he took. What was the Joker doing this time? It was a location – 255th Street & 12th Avenue – and it said, "Come on down and see me."

The engine of the Lamborghini roared to life and Bruce made his way to the Batcave; he was in no condition to go chasing after the Joker in suit and tie. With a quick change he switched vehicles to the Batcycle and headed south. Admittedly, Bruce wasn't sure what the Joker was playing at, stealing the searchlight right off the top of the Gotham PD building. He didn't see the point. There had been that one time in which Batman answered the call but it wasn't Gordon sending out the signal but Joker himself. But this? Went beyond that. Of course, nothing Joker did had a point and that… was the point.

When Batman reached his destination, he conspicuously hid the cycle and found a way around the huge brick building at the corner of 255th.

It was a foolish mistake, one Bruce rarely made. But he did not think that the Joker would have had so many thugs waiting for him outside the building. And now he found himself stretched to his literal limits, ropes around his wrists behind his back and strung up on a rod, like a sacrificial offering to the gods of irony. His legs were spread wide to give him solid ground but he was useless to move.

"Ooh hoo. This is too good, too good. You fools actually pulled something off right." Joker said towards his henchmen who were scrabbling with each other in the corner, fighting over a wad of bills he'd just tossed them. "Now get the hell out of here!" he shouted, pointing to the door. Batman's head hung as a result of his uncomfortable position but also not to give Joker what he wanted: acknowledgement.

With a tilt of his head, trying to get a good look at the tied man's face, Joker inspected him, "Look at me." But it was more of a request than a demand. Bruce lifted his head slightly and looked in the Joker's general direction, but not at his face, his eyes.

"I don't see why I'm here." Batman confessed.

"You're my biggest foe – my symbiotic lifeline! I live to fight you and vice versa and when given the opportunity to change things up, I take it. And isn't this a new and interesting situation?"

"What do you want me to do? What purpose could I possibly serve you like this?"

"Do you want the Batsignal back?"

"Well, yes…"

"Then you pretty much do what I want. Because if you don't, there's more at stake than a piece of equipment. Come to think of it… there already is."

"Whaddyou mean?"

"Well uh, "Joker paused and fingered a small piece of paper tucked into his breast pocket. "I have here the location of the hostages."

"What do you want then?"

"Funny that you ask…"

Joker was giving him a strange look – one Batman had not previously seen, not ever. It was more curious than angry or devilish. His face seemed to have softened almost; some of the harshness was gone.

Joker's long thin fingers trailed up Batman's torso, over the hardened lines of the body armor until he reached Batman's chin and titled his head up. In extreme anger, Batman tried his hardest to pull free but merely rattled the steel pole against the rafters of the warehouse. "Easy, tiger." Joker soothed. "What do you want from me, Bats? Honestly?"

With an exasperated growl he answered. "I want you to be off my streets, to be in Arkham permanently." He paused and pulled away from the Joker's hand, which had crept in to cup his chin. "I fear that this is an end I will never see."

"And you may be right." Joker sighed and sat on a pile of sandbags. "This is a lonely life, Bats." Bruce was inside his own head, plotting a way to somehow escape this predicament and was completely thrown off by this admission by a criminally insane adversary. He continued, "I only want what any man wants."

Taking off his suit coat and hanging it on a hook, Joker slanted his head down to get a look at Batman's face, hoping for some kind of reaction. "I want to show you something." Joker bent within inches of Batman brushing his torso against the other man's extended side, and untied his hands. Now freed, Batman's initial thought was to punch him in the gut and make a run for it. But he was interested to see what Joker was talking about. Taking a seat on a pile of sandbags, he watched as the Joker began to unbutton his purple silk shirt. He only did the top two buttons then pulled the left lapel enough to reveal his pectoral. Etched in black ink was a quarter sized bat tattoo. At first Batman was livid but also, confused. "Why? After so long being polar opposites, why would you... WHY?"

"I started off with nothing. Then you came along and I have all this to show for it." He waved a hand around and Batman wondered to which he meant, seeing as how there was nothing more than a few boxes and some run-down machinery in the far corners of the warehouse. "I have you to thank."

Still looking Batman dead in the eyes, Joker vaguely touched the tattoo with a finger then continued to unbutton his shirt, which now hung open, exposing a pale yet muscled torso. Batman was surprised by this but tried not to show it.

"I've said it before and I will say it again: You complete ME." Joker took this opportunity to reclose the gap between them, placing his forearms on Batman's shoulders. Batman shoved the man to the ground, then picked him up by his shirt, delivering a sharp punch to his jaw. The Joker laughed as he fell. Batman leaned in and placed another punch to the opposite side of his face then finished with an uppercut, throwing Joker back onto another small pile of empty boxes. This only made him laugh more. "How hard do I have to beat you before you don't think it's funny anymore?"

"No amount of punishment you serve me will ever stop it from being funny," the Joker said, wheezing.

Batman served him a kick to the ribs and then the Joker's laughing became softer. He lay there breathing heavily for a moment as Batman leaned down to inspect the man, now bleeding profusely, hair disheveled. Caught off guard, the Joker snaked a hand up and grabbed Batman by the cape, pulling him down top of him.

"Come on Bats, you like giving it to me as much as I like receiving it. I think we both know what's going on here." Then the Joker pulled him in for a searing kiss, the kind that teenagers steal in the dark: rushed and crushing, hard and urgent. Bruce pulled away instinctively: a million thoughts raced through his head, not least of which was the question of his own sexuality. For all the women that Bruce Wayne, millionaire had been with, none had satisfied him quite completely. Not the way his night-time heroism did. It fulfilled a desire he couldn't put into words. But he was only human after all. The serious, sane part of his brain was telling him to beat the Joker to a bloody pulp and go save the hostages. Yet the tiny insane portion - the one responsible for the ultimate decision to don a mask and cape and go gallivanting about Gotham in hopes of salvaging her soul - was winning out now. He reclaimed the Joker's lips - the other man approving with a groan - with less force this time as each man found their rhythm, familiar moves just not with each other.

Batman broke the connection and began trailing a hand down the Joker's chest and stomach, tracing the fine lines of each sinewy muscle. The Joker closed his eyes and arched his back with every touch. "Gloves" he demanded. Batman placed his hand back to the Joker's mouth where, with his teeth, he loosened each finger, then removed the glove entirely, tossing it over his shoulder. Hand now freed, Bruce went back to exploring the pale features of the Joker's body, tracing the details of the bat tattoo.

"So you're not mad?" the Joker asked. "I was at first." Batman knew - without ever truly thinking or picturing it - that it would someday come to this. There was always that tension, with each confrontation, each fight, each jail cell interrogation. There was nothing left for them to do. It was a thought he hid away deep in the recesses of his mind; brought it out only in the final moments before falling into a hard sleep each morning as the sun dawned anew.

With another bruising kiss, the Joker giggled under Bruce's lips. "What's funny now?"

"The sheer irony." The Joker laughed but was stifled once more.

Bruce's head was swimming when they reached the point of imminent decision: a police siren jolted him from his almost drunken state of arousal. He suddenly thought: how long had they been there, had anyone seen them, and hell, what about the hostages? Batman bashed the Joker's head to the floor. "What the hell was that for?"

"Are there really hostages or was it just a ploy to get me in here?"

"Oh no, there's really hostages. 35D, Roosevelt Heights apartments." The Joker grinned as only he could.

Batman delivered another blow to him but this time, it had less force behind it. "This isn't over." Batman promised as he scaled up the wall to a high window, punching it out with his boots and leaving the Joker high and dry.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's internal struggle

_Do you think people ever really change? Or do they just keep getting better at hiding who they really are?_

_I had a total lapse in judgment; let myself open up that locked box in my heart. Thought that key had been lost ages ago. Selina broke into it once. I'll give her that. But god, this was just something else entirely. I am disgusted with myself. I keep running, as if the rain falling on Gotham's slick streets will cleanse me of my transgressions. I fly. It is nearly peaceful for me. But I cannot get him out of my head. I keep trying to ignore and not admit. I hate him for it. Hate myself even more. Hate him so much I could kill him. Or something else._

_Roosevelt Heights apartments, 35D. Door's busted open at the lock and inside, nothing but rubbish. Wrecked room, debris. But no hostages. Just a couple of Joker's cards, pinned tactfully to a wall. On each, a name. Names I do not recognize._

_Days pass and I do some research – the two invisible hostages were nobodies but I am sure, somebodies to somebody else. The question is: are they dead or held up somewhere? I don't like it one bit. And I don't like the pervading thoughts I have of that bastard Joker. I want him out of head, out of my life and yet I know I rely on him to fuel my fire. In ways, we are one._

_I do not stop thinking about him._


	4. One Sided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is in way over his head

"You have two messages from the museum and this unlabeled envelope, Master Wayne." Alfred said, entering the bedroom to find him twisted amongst the bed sheets, a fistful of cloth in each and restlessly thrashing. He was not woken by Alfred's voice and continued to fret, mumbling incoherencies. Alfred could only make out certain words but he knew he heard "Joker" and "Deny it all." Leaving a tray, Alfred took his leave, worried for Bruce but knowing full well there was nothing he could do.

He had witnessed his master go through many bouts of mental anguish and distress and no one but he could push through them; there was nothing anyone could do to help.

Bruce woke with a start, finding himself soaked with sweat and feeling exhausted, even after the few hours of sleep he got. He was still in that in-between state of consciousness and images of the Joker - that tattoo – ran through his brain in a jumble. There was this inkling of surrender that he wanted to give in to. Desire and heroics rarely go hand in hand and though his most base cravings were tugging at him, telling him he wanted that connection with Joker again, he knew that would not solve any problems.

Once conscious, he tended to the envelopes on the silver tray. The Gotham Museum was requesting his presence at yet another affair - they were also asking for any possible donations - and then there was the purple envelope. It didn't take a skilled detective to know who it was from. In script, it read:

"No one leaves me hanging like that. Two more hostages – I'll give you a clue: Midtown, building red as brick but not. Pick a number between one and ten. See ya, Batsy."

_Dammit._

Seething, Batman made himself a deal: he would do as the Joker wished in order to get to the bottom of the Batsignal/future hostage situations and then he'd have to be done with this game once and for all, not giving Joker any of what he wanted, which was he himself.

With that settled, Batman felt a renewed sense of purpose as he went in search of the hostage location. It was dusk in Gotham and the sun set the dingy haze aglow, feigning warmth, as it was actually quite cool out. Midtown Gotham was a large area so he had his choice of buildings. Two, no three before he found one possibly fitting the vague description. It was a run-down hotel, no longer in use, apparently. Picking the lock to a back loading door and sneaking inside, he took stairs two by two, checked door after door but from the decrepit condition, he could see through crumbling walls and doors hanging off hinges. Batman had a sneaking suspicion this was another dead end. Growling low, he instead took off again towards the warehouse where he had first spotted the Batsignal, towards what he hoped would be success, a victory. High above Gotham, he stopped on the corner of a tall building to peer down over the streets in momentary vigilance. Below, the city thrummed with life; Batman inhaled her, closed his eyes, reveled in the noise. A sudden feeling came over him, as if he were not alone. With a quick turn, he was then fully aware of the other presence at the rooftop entryway behind him.

"You."

"You know it."

"How did you find me?"

"You think you're the only smart one around this place. To know your enemy is to think like him. And I…. I know you."

Joker slowly approached him, flipping a small playing card through his fingers, the fwap sound echoing in Bruce's ears with each step closer. He denied to himself the way his heart beat faster, the way that tiny almost silent voice in his head begged him to give into this man who had some unspeakable control over him.

"Are you going to tell me where you're hiding the Batsignal? And if those two people are still alive?" Batman asked, defiantly.

"That depends…" Joker said, becoming increasingly closer; so close Batman could hear his breathing, even above the din of traffic below. "What do I get in return?"

_Is it worth this trouble? We can rebuild it, buy another. He hasn't mentioned any innocent lives lost yet. They may still be… This could all be part of the plan and I might be just a pawn. God, there's part of me that actually wants this. What am I thinking?_

"Don't talk. Just ..."

Joker knew what he meant and with that glint in his eye, Batman did too. They thought alike more than he cared to own up to. Alone on the top of the world, Batman could smell the familiar scent Joker had - of cigarettes and cologne - something essentially masculine. Joker closed the gap between them and underneath the harvest moon, their lips met, crushing one another to the point of breathlessness.

It was then that the Joker leaned into him, maneuvering his knee between Batman's thighs, spreading them as far as he could. Batman allowed himself to get off-balance and they found themselves stumbling towards the rooftop door, falling into it with an oomph. Batman kept reminding himself to keep control, always have the upper hand. This was important when dealing with the likes of the Joker.

"So what is this?" Batman asked him, his breathing ragged.

"You ask too many questions, Bats. Can't you just… do things and let it be?"

"That's not in my nature, nor my job description." As Batman worked through his range of emotions, Joker's hands slid up his chest and around the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. With that, Batman turned them around so that he had the power, his back to the evening, the wind ruffling the edges of his cape. He knew this had to end or change or do something. He was reeling out of control and he could feel himself losing it. He dragged Joker down with him to the ground, which was not the most comfortable but also, the last thing on his mind. It was lust, pure and simple, born out of hatred.

Forcefully, Batman ripped the Joker's shirt from his pants, and yanked it up. "Ahh now we're on the same page, Batsy." Joker said, helping to remove his suit coat. Batman commanded "Shh. No talking…"

"Aww, come on…" To stifle his protest, Batman kissed him again and grabbed Joker's wrists, pinning them above his head. Joker groaned against his mouth and Batman felt himself on the verge of doing something he knew he may regret.

Joker's hands skimmed up Batman's thighs ever so gently, then stopped at the juncture between his legs, squeezing until Batman was obviously aroused. A rumbling sort of primal sound escaped his lips and he tore the shirt from Joker's body as forcefully as possible. No more fun and games – he would get what he wanted and Joker would pay.

In an instant, the tables were turned; Joker found a way to flip them over so he was on top, straddling Batman's hips and holding him down by the shoulders.

"Well, it's been fun, Bats, but I have places to go, people to maim. You understand, don't you?"

"I ought to kill you for this."

"But you won't. See ya 'round!" Joker kissed Batman on the cheek and disappeared down the fire escape out into the night. Batman allowed himself to lay there for a minute, staring up into the dark sky. 

This was becoming all too much to handle, even for him.


	5. Turned Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distracted Bruce gets some backup in the form of Nightwing and finds himself in an interesting predicament with Joker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER WRITTEN IN 2014; Here's my original note from then.
> 
> Can you believe I waited this long to continue this story? Sometimes life happens and you have a lot of work and another baby and, well, here I am, back at it. It came to me late last night as I tried to sleep; I was feeling forlorn and didn't know how to get them from that rooftop to any kind of viable ending. Here's the next installment. I hope you like it and that you who have read this story long long ago will review and send me feedback.
> 
> *A note about timing: still based on Allstar-verse Batman/Joker. Set shortly after Dick became Nightwing. TBH, I am not even reading current Batman comics so I don't even know what's canon now. I only know what I knew.

Nightwing radioed into Batman's com a mere moment after Joker made his exit and as he was adjusting to the uncomfortable feeling of being worked up then left hanging.

"Hey boss, Blüdhaven's dead tonight. You need help out your way?"

Clearing his throat first, "Sure." Then he paused a long time, his brain an emotional messy tumultuous place.

"Batman?" Nightwing questioned.

"Joker stole the Batsignal and he's taking hostages left and right. I think he's headed east towards the docks. Where are you?"

"Coming in from the North; can be to docks – ETA…10 mins."

"I'll meet you there."

With a less than graceful leap, Batman descended the building and headed back to the bike. Compartmentalizing work versus emotion, he cleared his mind; he let those white out lenses become the metaphor for the brain he was white-washing – get rid of the past. Erase the fact that he'd just done the unthinkable and he wanted to do it more, again. A part of that man was boring into his very being and this had to stop.

Ten minutes later, Batman parked his bike, skidding to a halt in the watery concrete lot that lay before Gotham's docks. Nigthwing fluttered down from the top of a shipping container and said, "I don't see anyone anywhere. It's creepier than normal out here tonight."

"Keep an eye out; pretty sure he fled this way."

"Were you just with him? What happened?"

"Nothing," he retorted, just a little too quickly. "His usual tricks." But God, the memory of that kiss was burned onto his lips. In fact, he snuck a hand up to his mouth, wondering for the briefest of moments if greasepaint had been left. Pulling back his gauntleted hand, the faintest of white smears across his thumb shocked and embarrassed him. He hoped Dick hadn't noticed; if he did, he certainly wasn't saying anything.

Dick held up a hand, "Shh," then did the two finger point in the direction of a messy pile of pallets. Before they could begin investigating, they were bombarded from every direction. Men came out from behind shipping crates, wielding baseball bats and long metal pipes, swinging wildly at the duo. The Bats took them on best they could, chop blocking, evading, utilizing batarangs and escrima sticks. They targeted knees and necks, weak points to disable and temporarily stun. A cackle echoed throughout the alleys of crates, taking their attention away for a moment. Joker. Batman signaled for Dick to follow it and he finished up with the thugs.

Nightwing peered out into the starry sky above, listening for the Marco to his eventual Polo; he'd get that bastard. When he oriented the next peele of laughter, he took off in that direction, pounding the pavement and running hard, fast. Finally, at the end of a long line of crates that seemed to cave in all around him, he saw the shadow of the man – the tall, lean figure they'd been after for years. For a second, Dick thought this really was his chance to prove his worth to Bruce. After leaving Gotham and striking out on his own, it had been a mental struggle for him to feel validation. The person he sought it from most rarely ever gave it, not freely anyway.

Dick threw a scrap piece of metal to his left to throw Joker off and then sprung out towards the shadow, colliding with the man's body and taking him to the ground.

"Oof! Not the Bat I was expecting." He said, rather stunned. "But you'll do." Joker cranked back his fist and let it fly into Nightwing's jaw, temporarily fazing the younger man. But Dick had the upper hand: he was on top and heavier and he used these to leverage himself and take aim. Blow after blow landed on Joker's face, his head, his shoulders. Dick didn't cut the guy any slack; why should he? There were a lifetime of victims behind every punch and he got angrier the more he pummeled. Joker tried to shield his face with his forearms and he wasn't laughing, which Dick knew he did even in the face of danger.

"Tell me where you put the goddamn Batsignal, you asshole."

Joker just covered himself and breathed deeply, a bit rattly. Nightwing slapped him upside the head and demanded again. The man just covered his now bloody face and sighed. After a few moments, he relented.

"It's in a warehouse. Ask your boss; he'll know. We spent some time there together." And he let a low sly chuckle escape his bloody lips. Enraged, Nightwing stood and took about five good kicks to Joker's ribcage before vaulting up top the crates and disappearing into the night.

Nightwing didn't know it but Bruce had finished with the henchmen – zip-tied them all together around a lightpole and radioed it into Gordon – then located his protégé and nemesis at the other end of the docks. He watched as Dick laid into Joker, both compelled to stop him and partake. But he resisted, waiting to see what would happen. Dick piped up on the com, "I beat that son of a bitch to a pulp and got the signal's loc out of him."

Batman hesitated to reply as he stepped into the light, into Joker's line of sight. It was clear that the man was not getting up. A glimmer of recognition passed between them. Batman replied in a low growl, "I'm going to take out this trash then I'll meet you around 38th and Grant. Wait for me."

It was a lie of course. Pity and a nagging fucking twinge of sympathy is what made him cradle his arms underneath the Joker's broken body, holding him close to his chest as he signaled to one of many hidden automated batvehicles around the city. He certainly wasn't going to be seen holding his rival like a baby as he drove the bike across town. A modified tumbler came roaring down the corridor and Batman gently placed the semi-conscious man on the passenger seat. It was eerily quiet save for the hum of the car's engine as Bruce situated himself in his seat and engaged a few buttons.

"Why?" a weak, gurgly voice croaked out. Batman just shook his head and drove them silently towards the Penthouse bunker.


	6. Nowhere Left to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman has no choice but to save Joker but he's really gotten himself in deep now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues!

Mere blocks from where Batman had – technically – rescued Joker from possibly bleeding out in a bacteria-ridden puddle of rainwater, the man passed out. Batman reached a hand out to his carotid to make sure he wasn’t dead. Nightwing was young, strong, and full of rage. His beating very well could have caused massive internal injuries. Batman hoped that wasn’t the case. For all the lessons he taught the boy, he felt that not killing anyone was of the utmost importance. It made them no better than their enemies.

 

The interior of the car lit up then plunged into darkness as each passing streetlight brought them closer to one of many Bat hide-outs and Bruce’s preferred lair. The Penthouse bunker under Wayne Tower had more security than the manor’s and, truth be told, even Dick wasn’t getting in there. And he didn’t want any interruptions this night. In the yellowy glow, Bruce looked over at the other man, his greasepaint almost entirely wiped off from the beating he’d taken. There was an innocence to his soft pale skin that didn’t normally surface under the clown guise. And that in itself was the mystery that Bruce had been trying to unravel since the two ever began fighting each other, so many years ago. He could never quite pinpoint the why and the how and the very elemental and basic _thing_ that made them two sides of the same coin.

 

Bruce parked the tumbler in the hangar on the backside of the tower and prepared to exit as the industrial elevator transported them deep below the city’s surface. Once securely out of view, he disengaged the inner cameras and made sure all exterior security was turned on. No one needed to know about this. He picked up the limp body, carrying the man down a long darkened hall, and laid him carefully on an operating table, pulling out cold compresses and gauze and antiseptic.

 

Wheeling around a high powered lamp, he turned it on the body and began cleaning and tending. There were small gashes that had opened about his cheekbones; he washed them and dried them, taking all of the paint off now. The normally angry creases of Joker’s forehead were smooth, calm. Aside from the bruising and residual broken skin - and the Glasgow smile - Bruce admitted that he wasn’t… ugly. He was actually fairly… normal looking. And he wondered how **he** must appear to people, in his mask. Did they think of _him_ as a monster they didn’t quite know how to categorize, even though he was also their savior?

 

As he pulled the Joker’s vest off and then slowly undid the buttons, revealing that goddamn bat tattoo, he also saw the scars and pock-marks, the pinched flesh that served as reminders of their previous encounters. With an almost inauble sigh, the man below him stirred ever so slightly. His eyes slowly fluttered open and Batman could tell when recognition actually occurred.

 

“What the fu-… Bats?”

 

“You were nearly dead.” OK, maybe he was exaggerating but his injuries were pretty extensive.

 

“Feels like it,” he said, painfully moving his arms and legs a little, opening and closing his hands. Joker didn’t sit up because he couldn’t. He’d finally been beaten enough to be sidelined. Batman took a wary step back and waited. He had something to say but he couldn’t. Finally, the two of them locked eyes and the truth inside him found its way to Bruce’s lips; he couldn’t help its escape.

 

“I hate you and I need you and I hate that I need you.”

 

Long moments passed; their gaze broke and Joker stretched his neck, looked around, then right back at Bruce.

 

“I’ve known a long time; it explains so much, you see.”

 

“No, it makes no sense at all. I don’t understand it for one fucking second.” Batman said and he sat down on a nearby chair, feeling defeated himself. He wanted to get the hell out of the suit. He wanted to just take off the mask, reveal himself and lie down for a while; turn off his brain. He felt pity and sadness for the broken man on his table and it was an altogether new sensation. At least, to feel it towards someone who previously took up so much of his brain space reserved for out and out hatred.

 

He flinched as a hand pressed solidly on his shoulder. Joker’d managed to peel himself from the stainless steel table and hobble the few feet to the chair. His breathing was labored and Bruce didn’t bother to look at him just straight ahead and focused on the weight the other man leaned on him; he could still barely stand. “Go back and lay down; you have at least two broken ribs, massive contusions on your torso…“ The hand on his shoulder flexed again and Batman looked back and up to see Joker’s face full of both a sorrow and wide-eyed disbelief.

 

Batman didn’t believe the other man to possess a single shred of sanity but something in that look conveyed a sincerity he was not expecting. Joker sloppily dropped to his knees. With an audible “oomph”, he painfully said, “This is going to happen, whether we want it to or not so we may as well…”


End file.
